 I had just gotten an old radio from a thrift shop. My dad and I often go to swap meets, flea markets, and yard sales. He's really into collecting old junk, especially radios. I usually just buy comic books or whatever, but this time I just had to get this antique tombstone radio. My dad has about 20 radios ranging from shiny silver to classic wood grain, but this was the first one I purchased. I eagerly set it up on the table at the foot of my bed. That night, the moon light poured in through my window, and its soft glow illuminated the radio dial. I tuned it to an oldie's station and laid back on my bed, looking upwards out the window at the full moon hanging bright in the sky. The oldie's station came through as clear as crystal. Patsy Klein's walk in after midnight came, and went as I relaxed in this pleasant environment. A few other country classics made their way across the airways before I even knew it. Suddenly, as the next song began, I heard something peculiar. It was a low, mere whispering voice. I listened closer, and could hear that the voice was softly singing, along to the song being played on the radio. This continued on as the song finished, and the next song came on. It was a low monotone, almost incomplete whisper, singing along to every song that would play. I thought perhaps it could be the radio disc jockey singing along. My dad once told me about a DJ who walked in, and closed the door made song by mistake, which we both thought was pretty funny at the time. This however, seemed solemn and creepy. It was the listless tone of a broken singer who could barely carry a tune. The sorrow emanating from the voice was more than the grates of the country western genre could communicate. This odd monotone voice singing in the background was somehow alarming, as it invaded my peace, and sent chills throughout me. It conveyed a certain world weariness, and hearing it felt like listening in on a stranger's private conversation, or overhearing someone singing along under their breath, when they don't know you're listening. Alone and forsaken, I thank Williams began to play from the old fabric speakers. The low, anomalous singer, once again began to sing along softly, growing gradually louder as it continued. He sang as if he wholeheartedly believed every word of the song. Along with the sadness was a sinister feeling, on an easiness that likely came from me, not knowing where this odd voice had come from. I began to feel as if I wasn't alone in the room, as if a stranger was there with me. I was thoroughly freaked out, and the more I listened, the more I dot the creeps. I went into the living room to find my dad sitting in his recliner by one of his radios. I told him to tune it to that station I'd been listening to, but when he did, it was normal, and there was no other voice. In my utter confusion, I tried to explain what I'd heard, but he had no idea what I was talking about. When I returned to my room, the voice was gone from the radio. I laid back on my bed, once more gazing up at the sky. The full moon had disappeared behind a black cloud, leaving the sky blank and empty. My radio and I sat alone in the dark and disturbed. I haven't had anything like that happen since then. I switched to a station that only plays the new hits. I suppose however was singing doesn't know those songs.